


34+35

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - College/University, Cheating, F/M, Fraternities & Sororities, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27320554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: She takes a minute to take in his costume, or lack thereof. There’s a wide expanse of brown freckled skin on display and Clarke finds herself biting her lip as her eyes trail over the ridges of his stomach, the curved line of his pectoralis, the bulge of his deltoid. Bellamy’s costume is simple, a white bed sheet wrapped around his figure and a wreath of golden laurels resting atop his curls.“This is a pretty plain costume,” she says evenly, burying any and all hints of desire, “What, no effort this year?”His grin turns downright wicked.“Why should I put in effort,” he murmurs, stepping into her space, hands on her hips, “When I know you’ll be tearing it off me in mere minutes, princess?”-or, who’d think that sweet little Clarke Griffin would be fucking Bellamy Blake behind her boyfriend’s back?
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 45
Kudos: 356
Collections: Bellarke smut





	34+35

**Author's Note:**

> i don't think there's anything more fitting than this as my 69th blarke fic. title from the most apt ariana grande song to ever be played.

Clarke knows what she looks like to everyone else.

Conventionally attractive blonde haired, blue eyed sorority girl. Made the dean’s list last semester and has a 4.0 GPA. Daughter of a doctor and an engineer who’s on the premed track and a shoe in for Stanford just like her mother. A good girl, the one who recycles and donates to charity and has the cute looking boyfriend.

That Clarke Griffin.

And it’s not like they’d be _wrong_. She is all of those things, she’s not denying it, but she also knows that there are parts to her that people don’t see.

Things like the weed stash they keep hidden, tucked away in the house that she sneaks a joint out of ever so often to unwind. The bottle of Adderall she stole from her mother and indulges in heavily whenever it’s finals season. The messy separation between her parents and the fact that her dad has been living in a studio apartment downtown for the past eight months.

And the boyfriend that Clarke barely tolerates much less _likes_.

She and Finn met back in freshman year but got together shortly after they were introduced at the country club’s Christmas dinner last year by their parents. Turns out his father and her mother worked at the same hospital. Small fucking world.

So after a week of not-so-gentle bullying from her mother Clarke gave in and called Finn to see if he wanted to grab coffee a time and the rest is history.

It’s not like-- Finn is perfectly fine on paper she guesses. He’s studying to be an engineer, he’s from a respectable family and he has a dog.

But he’s just so fucking _boring_.

Not to mention all the other slightly more alarming problems with him like the fact that he always frowns when she brings up abortion rights or when he says that he’s glad she’s over ‘that phase’ when she talks about her ex girlfriend or when he condescendingly says shit like ‘Clarke, babe, I love you but you just don’t understand, trickle down economics are a good thing.’

Honestly Clarke should have known all of this was coming when he said that his favourite movie was _Fight Club_.

She’s only with him out of obligation at this point. Their parents are friends and they’ve already scheduled joint Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations. She’s pretty sure her mother is hoping that they’ll be just like the Kennedys or whatever but Clarke plans on ending things as soon as the new year comes around.

But as of right now she’s still out here playing the part of a doting girlfriend, hanging onto his arm in their matching outfits as he co hosts his frat house’s annual Halloween party.

Halloween used to be one of Clarke’s favourite holidays. She used to look forward to getting to make her own costume and break out the face paints but this year it’s different. This time she’s not sticking prosthetics to her skin and becoming the Pale Man to scare kids, but instead here she is, dressed as an angel.

A _slutty_ angel.

It was Finn’s idea to do the whole angel/ devil matching costume thing. He’s just wearing a black shirt and black slacks with a pair of plastic horns on his head while Clarke is standing next to him in what is essentially lingerie. She has one of those white pleated tennis skirts on and a corset top, the entire thing made out of sheer lace except for the cups. There’s a pair of wings looped over her shoulders and she completes the look with a garter belt and a pair of white sheer stockings.

Honestly she feels like something you’d see as a pop up on a porn website. But her boyfriend seems to like it.

For the hundredth time that night she feels his hand pet down her back, groping her ass, and she resists rolling her eyes.

“Have I told you how good you look tonight?” whispers Finn, nuzzling her cheek lightly. “Can’t wait until later when I get to finally collect my treat.”

He squeezes her ass again before smoothly moving his hand away as another guest comes up to give him one of those bro handshakes and this time she really does roll her eyes.

Clarke sticks around for about twenty more minutes, an appropriate amount of time to be seen with her boyfriend, before she finally goes her own way. She tells him that she’s going to get a drink and Finn just waves her off dismissively, too caught up in a discussion about some sports game to pay any real attention to her.

Halloween on campus is always fun, especially for Clarke who likes to go people watching. She takes in all the costumes-- from the bargain bin Party City ones, to the over the top ones, to the seniors who couldn’t be bothered to even pretend that they were here for something other than free booze.

She beelines to the kitchen to grab a cup of punch, her first drink of the night. It’s electric green and sitting in a plastic cauldron that someone Sharpied over with the words _witches’ brew_ in blocky letters.

She takes a cautious sip and is immediately assaulted with the taste of green apple vodka.

A shadow looms over her a split second before she feels a hand rest on her shoulder. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” a voice rumbles out and she groans goodnaturedly.

“Is that the best line you could come up with?” she asks, turning around to punch him in the arm.

Bellamy just grins at her, a lecherous look on his face. “It was either that or I commented on how I can’t wait to check out that heavenly body,” he tells her.

She groans again. “Both are equally as terrible.”

She takes a minute to take in his costume, or lack thereof. There’s a wide expanse of brown freckled skin on display and Clarke finds herself biting her lip as her eyes trail over the ridges of his stomach, the curved line of his pectoralis, the bulge of his deltoid. Bellamy’s costume is simple, a white bed sheet wrapped around his figure and a wreath of golden laurels resting atop his curls.

“This is a pretty plain costume,” she says evenly, burying any and all hints of desire, “What, no effort this year?”

His grin turns downright _wicked_ and she gulps, suddenly finding her mouth dry.

“Why should I put in effort,” he murmurs, stepping into her space, hands on her hips, “When I know you’ll be tearing it off me in mere minutes, princess?” 

Desire burns deep in her belly and a pretty pink flush finds its way to her cheeks as his words hit home. Clarke surreptitiously glances to the sides before she eases out of his grip, taking note of all those who are in the kitchen with them.

He hitches a brow, a smirk teasing the corners of his lips, and she aims a kick at his shins.

This is something else people don’t see when they look at her.

After all, who’d think that sweet little Clarke Griffin would be fucking Bellamy Blake behind her boyfriend’s back?

He leans in closer, just a smidge. To a normal onlooker it would seem as though he’s just trying to talk to her under the pounding bass that shakes the walls. But if anyone looked too closely they’d see the flush that crept under her skin, the way her pupils are blown out, see the dark hungry look plain as day that lingers in his eyes as he looks down at her.

“You wanna get out of here?” he asks, voice low. A hand creeps up her thigh, out of sight from everyone else, squeezing gently. Unlike with Finn, this gesture doesn’t inspire annoyance. In fact it makes that heat in her belly roar hotter, slick building between her legs.

Clarke pretends to take a moment to consider it, pretends like she hasn’t been waiting for the opportune moment to arise so she could sneak off and fuck him all night.

Clearing her throat, Clarke makes sure that her voice carries when she says, “I brought your book with me earlier, it’s upstairs. Wanna go get it?”

No one is paying any attention to them and Bellamy chuckles.

“Subtle.”

“Shut up,” she hisses, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the staircase.

It’s been about five months since they started doing this-- hooking up on the down low, making sure Finn doesn’t realise. It’s been five months but sneaking around is still hot as ever. Although that could just be Bellamy’s effect.

She leads him up to Finn’s bedroom on the second floor, the noise from the party down below almost indistinguishable once they slip inside.

The door has barely clicked shut before she has her mouth on him, lips ferociously attacking his as she shoves him up against the wall.

Bellamy gives as good as he gets though, one hand cradling her jaw while the other slips past that flimsy excuse of a skirt to knead her ass. He changes the angle, kissing her deeper, sucking on her bottom lip until she acquiesces and lets him slip his tongue into her mouth with a breathy moan. She loves the way his mouth feels against hers, hot and controlling and just so _Bellamy_. Clarke finds herself whining into it as she thinks about what’s to come, and he takes that as an indicator to slot his leg in between hers, giving her something to rock down on.

“God, look at you,” he says, breath gone ragged as he pulls back to watch her grind her cunt against his leg, “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

“Come on Bellamy,” she whines, pushing his toga off his shoulders and raking her nails down his chest. He hisses at the pleasure pain of it all and she feels the way his hand spasms against her neck. “We don’t have a lot of time before someone realises we’re missing.”

“Relax,” he reassures her while ridding her of those ridiculous wings, “You’re out here wearing this and I’m not allowed to savour the moment? Doesn’t seem fair.”

His fingers find the hidden zipper of her skirt and he pulls it down, letting it slip off her hips. Clarke kicks it to the side, feeling a thrill in her stomach when she sees the way he’s looking at her.

He snaps the elastic band of her thong-- white lace that matches the garter belt and stockings, the one she wore just for him-- and she squeaks at the slight bit of pain.

“Gorgeous,” he says again, eyes pitch black and voice impossibly deep.

Bellamy kisses her again, wet and deep, a bit slower this time but still making her toes curl. He walks them backwards towards the bed while tracing the seam of her mouth with his tongue, flicking the tip of his against hers and making her shiver with want. The back of her legs hit the mattress just as he sucks on it, mean, and she gasps, losing her balance in surprise.

Clarke falls back on the mattress and Bellamy follows her, albeit a little more controlled, kissing down her neck and across her collarbones before sinking blunt teeth into the flesh of her breast that’s threatening to spill over the cups of her bustier.

And then all of a sudden he pulls away, drawing an upset mewl from her throat.

“Patience baby,” he says, smirking at her. His knees creak as he slowly lowers himself to the ground, kneeling between her legs. “You’ll get what you want soon enough.”

He presses a kiss to her knee, through the fine material of her stockings, and her breath catches. Slowly he kisses his way up her thighs, holding them open when she tries to press them closed together.

“Take that off,” he says, jerking his chin towards her top, a faint note of desperation colouring his voice. He might be better at hiding it but she gets him just as hot and bothered as he does to her.

Her fingers fumble with the tiny row of hook and eyes running up the front but she eventually gets them all undone and she tosses the bustier to the side.

Bellamy swears when her breasts finally come into view, all soft pale skin and pink pebbled nipples. “Come on, princess, show those tits some love for me, huh? Just until I can get my mouth on them.”

“Fuck,” she giggles at his words. She does as she’s told though, cups her tits in her hands and flicks a thumb over a nipple. Bellamy’s eyes are hot and heavy on her motions and she makes sure to put on a show, just for him.

It’s a lot more difficult than it seems, especially since he’s hellbent on teasing her, kissing up her thighs and nibbling at her skin. She wants to sink her hands in his hair and drag his stupid face towards her cunt. Wants to reverse the roles so that she’s the one teasing him before finally sucking his cock.

God, he’s so fucking-- Clarke doesn’t have any words for him. Infuriating, hot, sexy, they’re all apt and they all jump to the forefront of her mind but none of them are a perfect fit.

The wreath of laurels catch on the light of the desk lamping, the gold spray paint glinting in the lowlight. She finds herself transfixed by it as she looks at the pretty picture that Bellamy makes between her legs.

“You’re the one who’s a god here,” she says shakily, delicately touching the crown of laurels, watching as he mouths his way across the band of lace that wraps around her thigh. “I should be the one on _my_ knees.”

His eyes flash at that. “We’ll get to that soon enough,” he promises gruffly before undoing the clasps holding up one stocking. He sucks a particular mean bruise on the inside of one milky thigh and she gasps high in her throat.

She lets him repeat the process on the other side before the idea hits her and she finds herself tugging sharply on his hair once again.

“Come on,” she tells him, pulling him up by his shoulders. “On the bed.”

“I was having fun,” he complains, but allows her to manhandle him nonetheless. She gets the rest of that stupid sheet off, leaving him in just a pair of black boxer briefs and she finds herself cupping his bulge, making his hips buck up into her hand. He retaliates by groping her meanly and Clarke moans.

“I know,” she tells him, pushing him back so he laid flat on the bed, “I know but I figured that we could maybe have some fun together, y’know?”

She’s arranged him to her liking, all laid out limbs and bulging cock, and she kneels next to his head, bottom lip drawn between her teeth and looking down at him with big doe eyes, hoping he gets the point that she’s making.

He does, judging from the way his eyes light up in recognition. 

His hand ghosts across her hip. “Fun together huh?” he says as he easily undoes the garter belt and drops it unceremoniously on top of her bustier. “I could go for that.”

Clarke grins at him, bright, and then he’s helping her peel off her panties and straddle his head while she pushes his underwear down.

There’s a brief moment of awkwardness-- she’s too far down, Bellamy’s holding his head at a bad angle-- but then he gets his hands on her hips and she wedges her knees at his shoulders and _fuck_.

They both groan at the first touch, Bellamy giving her cunt a broad lick hello while Clarke takes his cock in her mouth and sucks lightly on the tip.

She takes her time, getting him wet, trying not to get too distracted by the feel of him underneath her. He’s all hard muscle and wet mouth and she quite likes the feel of her softness pressed up against him. She goes slow, sucking just the tip while her hand works the rest of him, revelling in the dark earthy taste of him. The tip of her tongue pokes out and curls around his head, licking the bead of precum that was blooming there.

Bellamy matches her pace too, long broad licks of his tongue, easy and aimless as he warms her up, driving her mad with want. He makes sure to stay far away from her clit, focusing instead on sucking gently on her labia or teasing his tongue at her entrance. He's being a fucking ass, torturing her like this until her limbs start to shake.

His tongue just barely grazes her clit and Clarke whines around him.

“Bellamy come on,” she says, pulling off of him with a soft pop. She nuzzles his hip bone, still working his length with her hand. “Stop fooling around.”

He laughs and the vibrations of it against her cunt has her entire body jerking.

“Alright, alright,” he says, petting down her spine, “Easy, I got you.”

And he does, curling his tongue around her clit, nibbling the oversensitive skin around it until she gasps. 

She gets serious about it now too, taking him as deep as she could and feeling him hit the back of her throat. His hips buck up suddenly and she chokes a little, gagging on his dick and eliciting a broken groan from him.

“Fuck,” he breathes as she jerks off, coughing a little, “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says, her voice a little hoarse.

Truth be told she _liked_ it, feeling the way her nipples tighten and her cunt clench down on nothing as she choked on him.

Clarke glances over her shoulder and meets his eye. “You can-- it just surprised me, that’s all.”

Something dark flashes over his face and she shivers, feeling her pussy get even wetter which she didn’t think was possible since she was already dripping all over his face. His cock is still rock hard, blushing a pretty red at the tip, and she slowly lowers back down, taking him completely in her mouth and swallowing around him. She feels the way his dick twitches on her tongue.

“You really are something else,” he says, a tinge of awe colouring his words, and she grins around his length.

She relaxes her throat and lets him fuck into her mouth like that, no rhyme or discernible rhythm about it. Just the easy push of his hips ever so often and Clarke let’s him, gently sucking while fondling his balls.

Meanwhile Bellamy redoubles his efforts, spreading her open and licking into her with purpose now. He focuses on her clit, alternating between lashing it with his tongue and sucking on it hard enough that she moans around him. It’s so, so good the interchanging bouts of pleasure and pain making her sweat. He touches her too, reaching down to play with her tits, squeezing and kneading and plucking at her nipples. Every single nerve feels like a livewire, each of them intimately connected to her clit. She begins to feel the start of her orgasm running like a lazy river in her limbs and Bellamy knows it too.

“What do you want, princess?” he asks, his voice muffled by her. She’s almost sitting on his face now, grinding down on it unabashedly. “Just my mouth or do you want my fingers too?”

The thought of that is enough to make her shudder and she pulls back, a thin string of spit linked between his cock and her mouth.

“Fingers,” she pants, still working at his length, hands twisting on every downstroke, “Please Bellamy.”

He doesn’t hesitate, shoving one, then two fingers inside of her, and Clarke keens at the sudden fullness, clenching down on him.

“God, you’re so-- fuck, Clarke,” he says, taking a moment and watching as he fucks her with his fingers. The angle is so much better like this and he’s able to spread her out and go deeper than he usually does, quick to find that spongy patch of tissue that makes her wail when he rubs up against it.

She tries to keep up with him, tries to give him even a fraction of the pleasure he’s giving to her, but it’s hard and soon Clarke is reduced to a shivery, shaking mess. She compensates by sucking just the tip, flicking her tongue around to tease his frenulum before licking at his slit. It’s an easy, mindless rhythm but Clarke finds herself concentrating as she nears closer to that peak.

Bellamy gets his mouth back on her, hot and wet and sloppy and shit, that’s it for her, Clarke can’t even pretend to reciprocate right now, not when he’s got her like _this_.

It gets to the point where the only thing she’s sure of is Bellamy, his mouth, his fingers… just him. She pulls off his cock and buries her face against his thigh, panting as he fucks her with his fingers, licks around her cunt, sucks at her clit. Her fingernails dig into his skin from how hard she’s gripping his leg and he growls against her flesh, making her sob.

Clarke grinds down against him, unable to help it as she chases that high. His cock lays briefly forgotten, one of her hands looped gently around it, unmoving as she rocks her hips down in search of that sweet sweet friction. She’s right there, so close that she already feels the way her muscles twitch and shake.

All it would take is one last suck of her clit, the rub of his fingers in the right spot, _something_ to send her over the edge and she finds herself babbling incoherently as she begs Bellamy to make her come. 

He changes the angle of his mouth as he tongues her clit just as she grinds down against him and shit-fuck- _god_ she comes so hard that she’s certain the entire party can hear the way she screams his name.

Clarke honest to god thinks she blacks out for a second as wave after wave of pleasure crashes down on her. In the background she can hear the vagueness of Bellamy’s voice, no doubt littering her with enough praise to stain her skin pink, but she’s too far gone to understand it.

“You’re good, babe, you’re so so good,” he tells her, petting down her spine. He removes his fingers but he continues to lap at her, his tongue gentle as he licks her clean.

Clarke comes down slowly but she still has enough semblance of mind to grab his dick and start back stroking it.

“Your turn,” she tells him, and doesn’t even wait for a response before licking a broad swipe up his cock, from base to tip.

Behind her she hears the way Bellamy groans out, her name both an epithet and a prayer on his lips.

Clarke is sloppy, she knows she’s sloppy, lacking any and all finesse in her fucked out state, but Bellamy is close enough judging from the tenseness of his body that he doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

She takes him deep, swallowing around him, and he makes this _sound--_ something like a cross between a gasp and groan-- that she’s never heard before as he goes monosyllabic. His entire body tenses, lingering on that precipice and Clarke hollows her cheeks and sucks hard and then he’s coming, swearing and groaning. Her name is a mangled mess in his mouth, a _ClarkeBabyPrincessFuck_ that he chokes on and she makes sure to lick him clean.

Clarke rolls off him after he makes a pained sound, over sensitive and overstimulated from her wandering mouth, and for a moment they both just lie there at opposite ends of the bed, breathing deeply.

Eventually she crawls back up to him, perching herself astride his chest and studying his face.

His lips are bruised red with an absolutely gorgeous flush making his skin glow gold and there’s slick-- _her_ slick-- coating his mouth and chin and jaw. She did that to him. Rubbed her cunt all over his face and left him looking like that. It’s debauched and depraved and _so fucking hot_.

His eyes are dark and heavy on hers and she feels her walls give one last feeble flutter.

“That was…”

“Yeah.”

Her hand shakes as she swipes a thumb against his chin and she sneaks it into her mouth to taste.

Bellamy groans. “Fuck baby,” he says before abruptly sitting up and grabbing her face, making her squeak.

The kiss is sloppy, a messy press of lips and a tangle of tongues and mix of tastes. Clarke can taste herself-- tangy and citric-- in his mouth and she knows when Bellamy licks into her mouth he can taste himself too.

They kiss until their tastes mix together into one, kiss until she’s sure her lips are going to be bruised and puffy for the next week. Bellamy nips her one last time before pulling away and brushing his lips against her forehead, still breathing heavy.

Clarke buries her face in his neck, breathing him deep until she feels both of their heart rates calm back down.

“We should get dressed,” she mumbles, trailing a finger across the tendons in his neck and feeling him shiver.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

Neither of them make any move to get up.

In fact Bellamy seems to slump back a bit, leaning against Finn’s pillows as he holds her, carding his fingers through her hair.

“We can take five more minutes,” she says, “No one is going to miss us if we take five extra minutes.”

“Agreed,” he nods.

They stay there for much longer than five more minutes, skin to skin and curled around each other. Clarke will get up eventually, put back on her silly little costume and head back down to be with her silly little boyfriend. Bellamy will get dressed too and pretend that she’s nothing more than a passing acquaintance and act as if he won’t be sneaking in through her window to fuck her stupid later that night. 

For now they pretend that they don’t _have to_ pretend and that this is real. Always has been and always will be, the two of them, happy and at peace. Together. 

  
  



End file.
